Stand
by Yuuki no Yuki
Summary: This is not a story of a comeback, of chasing dreams, or recovery. No, this is a story about a little, bitter, lost, girl-who had her wings clipped too early. This is the story of a could-have-been star, who never got the chance to shine. This is a story of a gymnast, who took up volleyball. All because that damned boy's eyes sparkled with an all too familiar light. Nishinoya X OC.
1. Fall

_"Cuz when push comes to shove, you taste what you're made of.  
__You might bend 'til you break, cuz it's all you can take.  
__On your knees you look up, decide you've had enough.  
__You get mad, you get strong. Wipe your hands, shake it off.  
__Then you stand."_

_**~ Rascal Flatts ~**_

* * *

**Breath.**

_In._

Out.

_In._

Out.

**Block out the noise.**

_Focus on the corner_.

Throw your arms back.

_**And**_ _**fly**_.

* * *

Most people go their whole lives without ever finding something they're passionate about.

They have hobbies, they have dreams. But they lack _passion_. That little voice in the back of their head, that tells them to _get back up_. Even when it hurts to move. _Get back up._Even when it hurts to breath. _Get back up._ Even when it hurts to think.

And against all odds, that little voice _actually_ manages to make them get back up.

To be passionate about something is to dedicate _everything _to it_. _Your time, your money, your health, _everything_. It is to give all you have to give, and, at the end of the day, to be disappointed that there wasn't more you could do.

Passion isn't about a goal. It's not about winning, or being the best. No, if you are passionate about something then it doesn't matter if you fail. If you lose. If you never, ever, improve. Because, at the end of the day, you still did it.

Yes, most people go their whole lives without ever finding something they're passionate about.

But I'm not most people.

* * *

**One.**

_Shift weight from back leg._

**Two.**

_Swing arms up._

**Three.**

_Leap through the air._

**Four.**

_Slap hands down._

**Five.**

_Rebound._

* * *

The first time I discovered my passion...I must have been four years old. At that age most kids don't even have strong opinions. They may "like" this, or that. But they definitely aren't old enough to make any grandiose statements such as "I'm gonna be..." not "I _want to_ be" nor "I'd _like to_ be" but, full of conviction, flat-out, "I _am going to be_."

I say this, however, knowing full well that at the age of four I knew _exactly_ what I was going to be.

Now, some might have a problem with my parents allowing me to pursue my passion at such a young age. Sure sports were good for kids, and team sports all the better, and this sport was all about discipline. But the time commitment alone was too much to except of a child, surely?

To these people I say, hah. It's because of comments like those that I persevered in the beginning. When I was just starting out. When I would come home, everyday, barely able to move. Wake up, every morning, with my whole body screaming. It's because of all those people who told me to "take it easy" that I found the strength to push myself.

To this day I can't quite explain it. Explain how you can love a sport so much that you would do literally _anything _it asked of you. Push any limit. Fight any odd. _Anything._

To this day I can't quite explain it. Explain how you can love a sport so much that you would _lie about_ literally _anything_ to keep from being pulled. Your grades. Your diet. Your_injuries_.

It takes a special breed of stupid to keep an injury from a coach.

Part of it is naivitee. Part of it is pride. But mainly it's fear. Fear that you'll be pulled for that day. For that month. For that season. Fear that you'll let your team-mates down. Fear that you'll let your coach down. But mainly, fear that you'll let yourself down. After all, _you're fine. _You just need to _get back up_.

It takes a special breed of stupid to keep an injury from a coach. And blunder, thy name is athlete.

* * *

_Coil._

_Spring._

_Stretch._

Arms _reachreachreaching_ up.

Legs _reachreachreaching_ down.

_Contact._

And

_**Pain.**_

* * *

Most people go their whole lives without finding something they're passionate about. I found my passion when I was four. I gave it twelve years of my life. And in return it gave me three scars.

One on my ankle.

One on my mind.

And one on my heart.

To this day I can't see someone rolling their ankle without having severe flashbacks. Can't bring myself to so much as play hop-scotch, due to phantom pains. And can't, under _any circumstance,_ bring myself to walk past my old gym.

This is not a story of a comeback. This is not a story of me chasing my dreams. This is not a story of recovery. No, this is about a little, bitter, lost, girl-who had her wings clipped too early. This is the story of a _could-have-been_ star, who never go the chance to shine. This is a story of a gymnast, who took up volleyball. All because that damned boy's eyes sparkled with an all-too familiar light.

This may not be my sport. This may not be my passion. But I've spent twelve years accepting nothing less than perfection, and I'll be _damned_ if I let anyone get a ball passed me.

"It's nice to make your acquaintance. My name is Himura Setsuna, I'm a transfer from Tirangakuen, and I would like to try for the position of libero."


	2. Beginner

_"He who learns must suffer.  
__And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget  
__falls drop by drop upon our heart,  
__and in our own despair, against our will,  
__comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."_

_**~ Aeschylus ~**_

* * *

The first time I had held a volleyball was about a week after surgery. I was busy working with Takada-sensei on rehabilitation. Nothing too strenuous, just pointing and flexing my foot...or, it shouldn't have been too strenuous.

Not when I had been doing the same thing for _years._ Not when it was a movement as familiar to me as _breathing._ Yet, there I was, acting as if I had been tasked with scaling Mount Fuji, both hands tied behind my back, sweat _pouring_ down my brow, leg _shaking in exertion_.

Needless to say, I was mad.

Furious might be closer to the truth.

In the beginning of the session Takada-sensei had anticipated this...frustration, as he called it. And had the foresight to give me a stress ball.

I understood his logic. This exercise called for me to raise my leg to a near 90 degree angle while sitting on my hospital bed. He probably expected me to lean on both arms, or, failing that, lean on my dominant arm. And thus prepared the stress ball in the case my one hand had nothing to do-I suppose it was to prevent my nails from carving into my palm.

What he failed to take into account was the natural balance that had been trained into my body. Lifting my leg up, until it was parallel to my waist? Easy. I had been doing that since I was seven, on a beam 10 centimeters (4") wide, and raised 1.25 meters (~4') from the floor.

It wasn't a matter of showing off, it was simply habit by that point. Leaning on my arms would have put an unnecessary strain on my wrists. Wrists that already faced enough day-to-day punishment.

So I simply...didn't.

Of course this had the unfortunate side-effect of leaving me with two open hands and only one stress ball. Takada-sensei had attempted to rectify the situation by giving me another stress ball, but, if anything, that seemed to nullify the entire effect.

Luckily his assistant had brought some sports equipment for the younger kids to play with. They were all outside running around with the soccer ball, but he still had a volleyball if I wanted to put that between my two palms and squeeze with all I had.

At this point I was quite fed-up with the whole rehabilitation system. And was only pushing through because Nationals were in a month, November, and I had wanted to be ready.

Despite Takada-sensei's grim prognosis I had been confident that I would make a full recovery.

I may have very well gone mad had I not had that ball to accept all my abuse. Yes, the first time I'd held a volleyball was during my rehabilitation. And from that moment on,**Volleyball** became linked with "therapeutic" in my mind.

I never did give that ball back.

I carried it with me to every rehab session. I used it to force me to balance. To break me of my dependency on railing-can't use rails if both hands are holding a volleyball-and, most importantly, as a healthy way to deal with anger.

Although why it is considered "healthy" to hit a volleyball, _with all your power_, at a gym wall. And "unhealthy" to do the same with any other item, I still don't know. All I knew was that somedays I _really_ needed to throw something. Such as the day I realized I _wouldn't_ _be_ ready in time for nationals. That I likely _wouldn't be _ready for any meet.

And that ball let me get away with it.

In retrospect I can understand where Takada-sensei may have gotten the idea I liked the sport. So I suppose I can't _really_ blame him for "encouraging" me to continue my rehabilitation through volleyball at the local club.

He probably thought that I would be able to latch onto the sport. To just transfer my love for gymnastics over, just redirect it, like adding an adapter to a foreign plug.

Unfortunately sports don't work that way.

I'm sure he was trying to prevent me from "over dramatizing" my injury or something. It honestly wasn't that bad, all things considered. I could still live a perfectly normal life. Could still play sports. Heck, I could still play sports _competitively_, if I so wished. I just couldn't do _gymnastics_ anymore.

Not with the falls.

It says something that Takada-sensei had no problem with me jumping nearly 60 cm in the air to block a spike. And yet I couldn't get my feet up enough to jump-rope.

The fear was too strong.

I could still _**feel**_ the pain of my ankle giving out on me. _**See**_ myself, as if I were a spectator; aerial, flick-flack, backhandspring, backhandspring, double tuck. Uncoil, legs reaching_downdowndown,_ sticking my landing...and crumbling to the floor.

Could still _**hear**_ the blood rushing through my ears. The thump-thump-thump of my heart, echoing the excruciating bursts of pain in my ankle.

**Thump.**

Pain.

**Thump.**

_Pain._

**Thump.**

_PAIN._

Most days it was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning...literally. I kept expecting my legs to give out on me as soon as I put my weight on them.

Needless to say I was broken.

I had already withdrawn from my Highschool at this point. I had actually been homeschooled for all of Junior High-gymnastics was all levels of demanding-and only entered Senior High because my teammates attended, and we could use the gym in the mornings before class. (My official gym only opened around 2pm).

With my injury I was forced to miss a good portion of school anyway, the last week of October and all of November, besides there had only been about three weeks left of term, and by the time I was well enough to return, I didn't want to.

I suppose to some people it would seem as if I was running away, and in a way I can freely admit that I was. But while cowardice is not a palpable characteristic to possess, I much preferred it to bitterness and jealousy.

And those were both guaranteed were I to return to Tirangaku.

I just didn't have the strength of character to watch as those I'd spent my whole life beside left me behind.

Didn't have the strength to smile at them from the sidelines when I wanted nothing more than to be standing on that podium.

Didn't have the strength to support them through their training when I myself couldn't "get back up."

At the end of the day it simply would have been horrible for my own healing to have stayed.

So when Takada-sensei informed me I was well enough to return I immediately inquired about keeping up my current situation-which more or less had me being home schooled, although I was still affiliated with Tirangaku (it was known as "correspondence schooling".)

I asked more out of habit than anything, I was just so used to ruining everything by sensei at this point, as he'd drilled into my head (after catching me drinking orange juice the night before my surgery) that I didn't know what was best for my health.

I couldn't.

He only knew because he'd studied for over eight years on this matter.

Yes, it was simply habit at this point, so I didn't really expect Sensei's immediate rejection. I didn't understand most of what Takada-sensei ended up saying. Something about "forms of social conditioning," "mental stress," and "isolationist tendencies."

I did, however, understand enough to know that Takada-sensei wouldn't let me get my own way without a compromise.

And so I compromised.

* * *

The first time I played volleyball, I didn't even understand what I was doing.

In accordance with the compromise I had made with Takada-sensei for forgoing formal education, I had been showing up for at least an hour, everyday, at the local rec-center. The whole idea was to use the time to socialize with people my own age.

Apparently I was at an age where developing social skills was imperative to a "healthy adult life" and the only way to develop said skills was to put myself "out there" and experience many different scenarios.

Now, while I understood the theory behind Takada-sensei's method, I couldn't help but question the execution.

The rec-center was all well and good.

It was popular in its own right.

But it was definitely not the type of place most high schoolers would be hanging out. It primarily attracted elementary aged kids-who wanted to try out the different sports-and old woman-who wanted to fight off their failing health. With all the old men being next door playing Shogi and Go.

Although I wasn't complaining seeing as I always got along better with kids, anyway. They were just so straightforward. No tricks, no mind games, just honesty. Kids normally got along really well with me too, seeing as-if I wore a baggy jacket, and let my hair fall free, in my face-I could easily pass for a 6th grader.

With my impressively small height of 155cm (~5'1") (although I'd like to point out that not only was this an average height for gymnasts, but it was entirely possible that it had been gymnastics that stunted my growth to begin with) I was often taken as "one of them" until I managed to correct them...at least a week after the fact.

Now, most would assume my short height would give me a complex. But I was actually okay with my stature, not only was it genuinely normal in my sport, but I _liked_ being mistaken for a kid. It meant I often got away with acting like one, after all. (Besides I was a strong proponent of the philosophy that "short girls are cutest anyway.")

In fact, it was during one of my stints of "pretending to be a kid" that I played my first game of volleyball.

It had been about nine or so weeks since I had first started visiting the rec-center, it was roughly the end of January. (And how unfair was it, that I had to keep coming even when school was off?) I was finally to the point where I could walk with some confidence.

I had even gone so far as to balance on one foot, on the _wrong_ foot.

Which was less about the balancing bit, and more about the psychological triumph of being willing to place my weight, _all_ my weight, on the very leg that had given up out me not three months prior.

I still down right refused to try jumping.

I was adamant that only one of my legs be off the floor at a time. But I was sturdy enough on my feet that I didn't see a reason to turn down the small group of kids offer to play volleyball with them. By this point they knew who I really was, but I had long since earned my place in their circle. And they had long since earned a place in my heart.

So when they came with their puppy eyes, begging me to choose a side, so that the teams would be even. Well, I said 'yes' before I even realized what I'd agreed to.

It was not until they handed me a volleyball and left me behind the backline that I realized I had no idea what to do.

It took a bit of begging on my part, but eventually I got the basic rules down. I explained that I "couldn't jump" to my team, and asked if there was a way for me to just stay in the back. After all a player who can't jump is useless as a blocker, spiker, or even setter. (Can't toss well if you refuse to spring off the floor).

They told me not to worry about it, we weren't really following the rules too closely anyway, and to just stand wherever I wanted.

Relieved I tossed the ball up, hit it with all my strength-I'd gotten quite adept at that from hitting it against the wall-watched as it bulleted forward. Watched as it curved upward. Watched as it arched to the other side, hit the top of the net, flew up vertically about a meter...

And dropped like a ton of bricks onto the opponent's field.

"..."

"Ah, Himura-nee!" They all chorused, "that was a m~ean, serve!"

"...oops?" It was more a question than anything. I didn't even know if that fluke was legal. But apparently it was. And a very mean, legal, shot too.

After two more serves reacted exactly the same-I blame my height-it was decided that I was _not_ allowed to serve anymore. Which was fine by me, I was really only on that field for the kids, anyway.

It wasn't until the last fifteen minutes of my "sentence" that someone actually hit the ball to me. It was arched really high in the air, so I had plenty of time to casually stroll to where it would land, bend my knees, hold my hands, like they'd shown me, and let the ball bounce off my inner arm.

What had happened next-according to my temporary teammates-was that the return had bounced off my arms and only barely made it over the net, landing a good 60 centimeters in front of our opponents. Less than 10 centimeters from the net.

What had truly happened, however, was that my arms had absorbed all the energy from that stupid ball's descent, because no-one had bothered to tell me not to lower my arms during impact. This had the great benefit of returning the ball with a much lower arch. But had the horrible benefit of sending shockwaves throughout my entire body.

The reason I had no-idea what was going on with my team, was because I was too busy dealing with, what would undoubtedly be, a giant bruise on my forearm.

Now, as a gymnast, I was no stranger to pain. Or bruises. They were par course in my sport. That being said, my inner arms had no reason to fear during practice and so were largely unconditioned to pain. Luckily the game ended soon, so I could nurse my injured arm in peace.

The next few weeks saw a great surplus of injuries on my arm. At first I couldn't understand the kids sudden interest in the sport. But after talking to one of the gossiping old biddies who was trying to get her friends in on a game. I'd learned that the sudden increased awareness was seasonal. Apparently there was some sort of tournament, on going, a Spring Tournament, I believe they called it.

She told me that it'd die down in April, when the kids all started up at school. I wasn't too sure if I should be excited about that or not. I didn't really mind playing with the kids. And after the first few times, my arms had gotten used to the weight of the ball. I still had horrible control, but I could get it in bounds, nine times out of ten.

I wouldn't go so far as to say I _enjoyed _the sport. But then, I wasn't really playing it. Just standing in the back and trying to keep the ball in play for as long as possible, so the kids could do all the fun things.

I didn't even know the rules to the sport beyond "the ball can't go out of bounds, hit the floor, or be touched by the same player twice-in-a-row."

Honestly I was just using volleyball as a way to stay in shape-it was good cardio-and as a way to teach all of the kids how to properly stretch. "I refuse to play until we've all stretched!" was a great motivator when all the kids looked up to you as their "Big Sister."

Those days found me at the rec-center for four or five hours at a time. That may seem excessive to most, but I had spent most of my life at a gym. Four hours a day on weekdays, competing on weekends, and of course everything increased when I was off school.

The break before a new school year always found me at the gym the most, as it was the only time that year I'd be able to learn enough new skills to advance. Gymnastics doesn't really have an "off season" there are competitions all over the place, constantly, and you are free to attend as many as you want. With the knowledge that you have to place in at least three to be considered for nationals.

But the break between school is the closest most gymnasts get to an "off season" which, ironically, meant it was often the most strenuous part of a gymnasts year. After all, you didn't have to worry about routines, or being in top shape for competitions. Nor did you have to worry about school or homework. I would often spend twelve hours a day at the gym, over the summer. 8am to 8pm, with an hour for lunch at noon, and another for dinner at five.

Thus, four to five hours a day, light-heartedly tossing a ball around, really wasn't all that much. Still, it was all I could do to keep myself from drowning in free time. I honestly had no idea _what to do with myself_, most days. I kept extending my time at the rec-center because I simply couldn't think of anything else to do. Except go home and sleep.

So while I wouldn't say I _enjoyed_ my time there, I can confidently say that I didn't _not enjoy it_, either. And that I was definitely sad when the kids stopped coming. Claiming "school" and "club" and all manner of excuses-I ignored that I was guilty of much the same my entire life, except using "practice."

Perhaps this was why I was so quick to latch onto him? So quick to agree?

I can freely admit that I was rather bored in the three days between school starting and his appearance. Hitting the volleyball against the wall just wasn't the same. I'd even fallen so low as to join with the old ladies while I waited around for the kids to get out of class. My arms bruised from their much meaner hits.

(I brought my school work with me to the rec-center, but that still only killed about two hours a day.)

So when a boy, not much taller than me, strolled into the center with a cocky smirk and a sparkle in his eyes, I was perhaps just a little too quick to agree to help him learn these things called "block follow ups."

When he kept me there for over six hours, just holding up a wooden post while someone else spiked the volleyball as hard as they could (and I demanded they give me a longer post, even if it was more strain to my arms, I simply refused to stand on a chair-too far off the ground) I began to suspect that I may have bitten off more than I could chew.

And when he made a vow to master the move within a month, even if that meant coming in everyday, I realized that I was so done for. After all, I knew that look in his eye. I'd _had _that look in _my eye!_ There was simply no-way he was going to let me go home before dark, not once this whole month.

Oh well, at least I won't be bored.


	3. Block

_"True compassion means not only feeling another's pain,  
but also being moved to help relieve it."_

_**~ Daniel Golemon ~**_

* * *

Nishinoya Yuu had been called a lot of things over the years. "Karasuno's Guardian Deity," "One man Army," "Genius Libero," but one thing he had never been called was "inattentive." He may be loud, and passionate, but only a fool would think that somehow implied he didn't know _exactly_ what was going on around him.

Well, either a fool or someone who had never seen the boy play.

He knew when Asahi didn't show up to club practice in the beginning of the new term that the Ace was making a choice. A choice to give up the sport he loved. He knew that this wasn't his fault. He did his job, kept the ball in play, guarded their backs. He _knew_ all of this. But that didn't mean he had to _accept it._

Not when it meant practicing without their Ace.

Without their pillar.

So perhaps it wasn't the _smartest_ thing to do-confronting Asahi in school. But he couldn't just _leave it. _After all, it may not have been his _fault _but he was still partly to blame. If he could have just saved those blocked spikes then Asashi wouldn't have felt the need to fight all alone. Would have realized that he didn't have to worry about that stupid wall, because Volleyball was all about keeping the ball in play and that was _Nishinoya's job._

No, Nishinoya was a lot of things, but "inattentive" wasn't one of them...or at least, that was what he'd always believed. Recent events however had forced him to reconsider. After all, an attentive person would have noticed that vase...and the presence of the vice-principle behind him.

So perhaps Nishinoya wasn't the most attentive person, off the courts. But still, even _he_ could tell something about this picture didn't add up!

What was a girl, about his age-and he gleefully noticed that she was shorter than him-doing at the rec-center, at 10 am on a Wednesday morning? Shouldn't she be in school? He was only there because he'd been suspended for a week and figured that he might as well make the best use of his time. (Tuesday had been spent convincing his parents that he was truly sorry, and to _please _let him spend this extra time at the gym.)

He would have asked one of the obaa-chan's there about her presence if he didn't first catch a glimpse of her arms.

Nishinoya had been a libero for many years. Most people assumed he was in the position because of his height, but those people were dead wrong. He simply loved the position. Out of all of the players he was on the field the most. He never had to worry about serving, or setting, or attacking, he had but one job. And he did it well. No, Nishinoya had _chosen_ to be a libero, all the way back in elementary school when his height wasn't that different from his peers.

In those days he could have been a blocker, or wing spiker, could have trained to be a setter, or pinch server. But, no, he choose to be the cog in the machine. The one person to make all the crazy plays possible. The person whose entire purpose was to make sure that everything stayed connected.

But with such a choice came hours of tedious practice. The only way to learn how to receive, after all, was to receive. The more one plays, the more often one tries, the better they get. Of course it's not as simple as all that. Timing, direction, force, all of these things came into play when receiving. It's not enough to send the ball over, after all, you needed to _control the ball_, or risk simply setting up your opponents for a spike.

It was because of these hours of practice that Nishinoya had long since gotten used to the continuous bruises that littered his arms. What he _wasn't _used to, however, was seeing those same bruises on the arms of another.

Nishinoya was not inattentive when it came to the sport that he loved. So he could tell another libero when he saw one. Perhaps it was simply his competitive spirit speaking, but he really wanted to show off.

To challenge her.

To prove that _he_ was the better player.

He hadn't actually come here with any goal in mind, other than to make sure he got in some practice-wouldn't do to get lazy after all. But quickly decided that he was going to show this unknown delinquent, which she must be, skipping school (he conveniently forgot that he was in the same boat), just how good he truly was. He was bit surprised when she agreed to play the part of the blocker, and downright astonished when she refused the aid of a chair. Asking instead for poles to extend the block's reach.

But pretty soon he had settled into his rhythm as a player. He no longer had room for such petty distractions. Not when he needed to master this technique. And he _needed to _master this technique. It was the only way he'd be able to convince Asahi that he truly _had his back._

It wasn't until all the obaa-chan's, who took turns rotating as spikers, left, that he realized how late it truly was. It wasn't until that realization that his body allowed him to feel his fatigue, and it wasn't until he registered his fatigue that he realized **that girl** _hadn't taken a break._

Nishinoya was no fool, he knew what other's thought of his work ethic. He put in crazy amounts of time at the gym. Not because he had to, not because anyone asked it of him, but simply because he wanted to. He _liked_ volleyball, _loved it _even. He had spent many-a-hour at this rec-center, working with these Obaa-chan's.

They all knew that when he asked for their "help" he would be needing it for a few hours. Thus why they started creating shifts. When Nishinoya had asked for the girl's help he had assumed that she knew this. Or, failing that, that she would ask for a break after her arms got tired.

But either they didn't get tired...

Or she didn't notice.

Either way, that girl's stamina was ridiculous! (And not just "for a girl" either). He would have to ask her about her training regimen sometime over the next month. She'd surely be able to help him get stronger for the team.

Nishinoya completely ignored the fact that he hadn't even truly _spoken _with the girl that whole time. He simply resolved to talk to her the next time they ran into each other.

Although he secretly hoped she chose to skip school tomorrow too. His suspension would go a lot faster if he had someone he could play against. After all the obaa-chan's were all nice, but none of them could handle heavy shots-not without risking broken bones.

"Perhaps," he thought, "things won't be so bad."

* * *

I had absolutely no idea what to make of Nishinoya-san.

My first impression of him was of someone serious. Someone so devoted to their sport, to their life, that they blocked out any and all distractions. If someone had asked me to sum up Nishinoya-san in one word, after that first meeting, I would have chosen 'calculating.'

He was so quiet on the court, eyes darting every-which-way. You could almost _hear_ his thoughts. _if it bounces to the right, I need to pivot 45 degrees. To the left, spring off my back leg. _Could almost _see_ his plans. _Palms open. Arms turned out. _Could almost _feel_ his concentration. _Breath. Just keep the ball in play. Just keep the play connected._

The Nishinoya of that first day was almost eerily in control of himself.

And the Nishinoya of day two was nearly his polar opposite.

The day started out much the same as any other. I arrived at the rec-center, around 9 am, having left home around the time my parents left for work. I then proceeded to pull out that day's packet of questions, sat myself in a straddle split, and got to work.

I had been so absorbed in this one Pre-Calculus problem-it called for Trig, and that had always been my weakest subject-that I didn't notice the doors to the gym open and close. Nor did I hear the squeak of shoes slowly growing louder. In fact, I'd been completely oblivious to the presence standing about a meter behind me. Until it made itself known in a very...distracting...way.

"Eh? Sugoi!" A voice called, startling me out of my thoughts. "How can you sit like that?! Is this some sort of training? I bet you can cover so much more ground with that flexibility! Can you do front splits too? I've tried splits before, but I can never get anywhere near the ground. How did you get so good at it?"

Eventually I managed to whip around, ready to chew out this hyper-active kid who _dared_ to interrupt my self decided study period. Only to freeze with shock when I realized exactly _who_ it was shooting questions at me.

Nishinoya Yuu could not have been the _farthest thing _from "calculating" in that moment.

* * *

That first week had Nishinoya learning more than he ever thought possible. About Volleyball. About life. And, about himself. When he first decided to get to know the random girl who frequented his local rec-club, he hadn't expected to find her so...interesting.

But interesting she was.

Himura-chan was only sixteen-had only just turned sixteen-and yet she had already lived a complete life! She was already out of school-if one ignored the fact that she was homeschooled-she was already a _professional athlete_-he conveniently ignored that all competitive gymnasts are labeled as such. And she had already _competed internationally!_Although, never further than China...

To say Nishinoya was star-struck was to put it likely.

Of course, life is more than just ups, and Himura-chan'd had her fair share of downs too.

_"Eh? You were disqualified for competing with a broken wrist? But, why? If you were able to score so well with an injury, shouldn't that have been_ more _impressive?!"_

_"Well, sure, in a way it was_ impressive. _But if the judges let the world know they rewarded people for_ impressing them, _then there would be a never-ending queue of young gymnasts lining up to do exceedingly stupid things. Gymnastics is already one of the most dangerous sports, I guess they just didn't want to be seen promoting pushing yourself even through injury."_

_"...I guess that makes sense."_

It became very obvious, very early, that Himura-chan was a novice volleyball player. Even if her returns were on point, and her reaction time was enviable, it would still make itself known in rookie mistakes. And odd responses.

_"See, you go 'Fwoosh' then 'Zoom' then 'Zap' and the ball will stop going so high."_

_"But why does it matter as long as it clears the net?"_

_"Eh? Himura-chan, you've never seen a real volleyball game before, have you? In a real game if you returned the ball with such a high arch do you know what your opponents would call?"_

_"..."_

_"They'd yell 'chance ball' as in 'this is our chance to turn things around'. It's a direct attack on your pride as a libero! No, it's your job to set up for plays, but if you _have to _return it, then you want them to realize that they have_ no chance_, you want them to realize that no matter what they do, you will _always _be there!"_

And as soon as Nishinoya realized just what a novice Himura-chan truly was, it was obvious what he had to do-after all he owed her for walking him through how to increase his flexibility. And for giving him all those strength exercises!

_"Don't worry 'mura-chan! I'll teach you how to be the best libero ever! Well...after me."_

_"...Nishinoya-san, I don't really have an interest in being a good 'ri-ve-lo' or whatever. I told you, I only picked up the game to help even out the teams with the elementary school kids. I can't even serve over the net. I barely made it over when it was set to the Under 11 height. That's at least 6 cm below High School regulations!"_

_"So the first thing you have to know is how to properly 'dig' the ball. You keep trying to lift with your arms, it's why you still have bruises despite playing so often."_

_"Did you hear a word I just said, Nishinoya-san?"_

_"And it's also important to be able to toss. You're short so a lot of balls might get beamed at your face-tossing is a good counter to this. Or you could use a forearm pass."_

_"Nishinoya-san?"_

_"Well, what am I saying? You don't learn how to return from talking, you learn from doing! Back up a bit 'mura-chan! I'll send it over your way."_

_"You're not going to give on this, are you?"_

_"Here it comes!"_

_"..." __**Bam**_ _"...owww."_

_"Nice, 'mura-chan! Again!"_

Of course training with Himura-chan for any length of time made her...handicap, exceedingly obvious. There were only so many times a girl could literally drop into a split to prevent diving for a ball, before it started to get suspicious, after all. Of course, her reaction to when Nishinoya saved one of the block-spikes, by letting the ball bounce off his ankle, was also suspect.

At least Nishinoya was _pretty sure _that most people wouldn't start shaking, with tears in their eyes, after seeing his awesomeness at work.

It took quiet a bit of prodding and poking on his end to get her to reveal why she had reacted so strongly. Eventually, she caved, though it wasn't until Nishinoya threatened to follow her home, just so he could ring her doorbell to ask her _parents_ what'd had her so scared. And what he learned only further motivated him to convince Asahi to return.

_"...it's my ankle." She muttered, after the fifteenth time Nishinoya had brought up her 'unique' style of receiving._

_"What is?"_

_"The reason I don't go to school. The reason why I won't talk about my latest meet for gymnastics. The reason I have such a weird style in volleyball. The reason I reacted so strongly to your save the other day...and the reason why I spend everyday here as opposed to my old gym. It's all my ankle..."_

_"You hurt it?" Nishinoya called, hands behind his head, the picture of nonchalance._

_"I broke it."_

_A wince. "Ouch." Nishinoya couldn't stop his eyes from darting to her shoes. "That sucks." He managed to tear his eyes away, and slowly lock them with her own. "but...I don't get it. You've competed with a broken wrist before, right? What's so different about a broken ankle?"_

_"...gymnastics is a demanding sport. Not just physically, but mentally as well." A sigh. "Back when I first started competing my coach would never let us watch our opponents when they performed on beam. He wanted us to sit there, eyes closed, visualizing us completing it, instead. He didn't want to risk us psyching ourselves out by either seeing a really good performance, or by seeing them fall a million times and taking that our there with us."_

_"That makes sense, I guess. But what's that got to do with anything?"_

_"Well...gymnasts are known for being fearless." Her eyes slowly trailed to the ground, her shoes scuffing the floor. "But fear is an obstacle just like everything else in a sport. It's not that we were born especially courages or anything, we were just forced to face our fears head on."_

_"..." Nishinoya just watched as Himura started blurting out her story. It was clear she had kept this in for a long time. It didn't matter so much who she told, just that she told somebody. He vowed to listen until the end._

_"We faced our fears constantly. Over, and over, and over, again. Until we either stopped being afraid-after a while I rather enjoyed flipping through the air-or learned how to suppress it-I only allowed myself to think about how I could have messed up _after _I completed my beam routine."_

_A glance was all it took for Himura to realize that Nishinoya wasn't following her thought process. She supposed this made sense, he knew as little of her sport as she knew of his. If she wanted him to truly understand then she'd need to get him to see things from her perspective. Need to get him to see things as a gymnast would._

_"Do you know what's the most dangerous thing a gymnast can do, Nishinoya-san? In volleyball you talked about how _not to _receive. Not unless you wanted to risk broken fingers, or sprained wrists." She tried, hoping the comparison would help clear her explanation up a bit._

_"Yeah, you need to go 'Zwah' not Zwop' if you don't want to get hurt." He responded, with all seriousness, nodding his head as if he had _actually _given her useful advice._

_"Well..." she nervously chuckled, "in Gymnastics' there are _a lot _of little "do's and don'ts." How to fall, how to jump, how to hold the bar. A million and one little things, but there is one __**very big**_ _rule, too. Never, never-ever, never-ever-__**ever**__, commit less than _one hundred percent _to a move. Doing so would mean sure injury, or possibly even death."_

_"Death?!" He squeaked, head snapping up._

_"It's happened before." She responded, nonchalantly shrugging. It was something she had long since come to accept. It's not like it was all that common to begin with, and really, anything worth doing had a bit of risk to it._

_"Wah? But wait, so your problem isn't your ankle?" Nishinoya continued, eyes widening in realization._

_"Got it in one, Nishinoya-san. My problem isn't that I hurt my ankle. I have done that so many times. Too many times to count. My problem is in my mind."_

_"Then can't you just get over it?" He questioned, ignorance coating his words._

_A snort. "Like I said, I've hurt my ankle too many times to count." Himura tried to explain. Tried to get him to see. "It was always the same. I would train, I would practice, I would train some more. And then the day before, the __**day before**_ _a competition, I would pull some muscle, or tear some ligament."_

_Nishinoya watched as her whole body tensed. Her hands fisting at her sides. Her knuckles bleeding white._

_"I would then struggle through __**months of rehab**_ _only to go through the same heartbreak a few weeks later...This time I trained extra hard. I built up the muscles in my ankles, stretched them out often. I was confident I wouldn't pull_ anything. _And in a way I was right...I didn't _pull _anything, didn't just injure my ankle. I __**broke**_ _it."_

_Nishinoya couldn't hide his wince. Himura's pain shining clearly through her voice._

_"At first I thought it would be the same as always. I would heal, I would train, and I would be back out there trying my best. But more than just my ankle broke that day." A pause._

_"What do you mean?" A nudge._

_"...I could no longer jump." She whispered, as if confessing some horrible sin she'd committed. "I simply didn't trust my legs to support me anymore. I could bend my knees, I could push off the ground, but when it came to lifting my feet off the ground, I simply _couldn't."

_Deep breath in, and, exhale._ "_My parents took my to a psychologist, and she told me what I already knew...I had developed a mental block."_

_"A mental block?"_

_"Ah...do you not get that in volleyball? A point where you can't perform to your best? You can't do things you've done for years? Can't envision yourself winning?"_

_"Ah! That's what happened with Asahi-senpai!" Nishinoya mumbled to himself. The face of his Ace instantly jumping to mind._

_"Who?" Nishinoya just waved her off, and motioned for her to continue with her story. There'd be time enough later to tell her about his own troubles. Not that he was likely to do so when they so obviously paled in comparison._

_"Well, anyway, if you know what I'm talking about then you should understand. It's not just something you can 'get over.' It's actually pretty common in gymnastics. A block of fear that prevents you from doing a certain skill. Creeping up out of nowhere and choking you with uncertainty. I've faced my fair share of mental blocks over the years, and it was tough-perhaps the toughest thing ever-but I'd eventually manage to break down those walls."_

_"Then why?" Nishinoya couldn't help but question. Why not fight? Why not try? Why just accept your fate?_

_"I couldn't-I can't __**jump, **__Nishinoya!" She all but screamed, tears pooling in her eyes. "Do you know what that means to a gymnast?" Her arms shaking from the restraint of not being able to punch something. "This isn't just a matter of visualizing myself overcoming it. This isn't a matter of just __**trytrytrying**__," Her voice raw from pain,_ _**"**__not when visualizing ends up with me __**crying in shock**__. Not when I can't even __**try **__because of this God. Damned. Block!"_

_"...'mura-chan." Nishinoya's heart lurched. The pain of empathy striking him in the chest._

_"Gymnastics is...gymnastics_ was _**my life.**__" She mumbled, headless of his call. "If there was even the smallest chance, the_ slightest hope _that I could still compete, don't you think I'd have grabbed it with everything I had?!" She had gone from screaming to pleading, nearly begging him to understand. "Wouldn't you?!" She needed_ **somebody **_to understand."I just...I _can't. _I want to, Kami do I_ want to, _but I __**can't.**__"_

It was right around this point that Nishinoya realized just how lucky he truly was. Sure he'd lost, he'd let his team down, dropped the ball. But he still had a chance to get better, still had a chance to play with them. To win, to lose, to _play._

It was right around this point that Nishinoya realized just how _stupid _he and Asahi were being. Quitting their sport? Because of such a wishy-washy reason as "letting someone down." Who did that? Who could quit so easily, when there were people who would give _anything _for a chance to continue? And not just Himura-chan. Nishinoya had seen plenty of volleyball players cut down in their prime.

A torn ACL here. A broken elbow there. In the end the human body was really fragile, after all. It didn't take much to break it. So if Asahi and he had somehow managed to find something that they'd loved, and had managed to keep the forces-that-be from permanently keeping them from said love, well then, didn't they _owe it _to themselves to keep playing?

To keep trying?

Nishinoya sort of wanted to ask Himura-chan's opinion. After all, she was really smart. She was basically teaching herself everything for their year. (After her breakdown a lot of Nishinoya's assumptions were corrected. Himura actually laughed at his guess that she was some Yakuza-wannabe who skipped school everyday). But he held his tongue, thinking such a question to be a little _too_ insensitive.

He didn't know her all that well, after all.

She might get really easily offended.

He still had about three weeks to figure out what to do. His suspension from school ended tomorrow, but he still had the rest of the month keeping him from club activities...perhaps he would think of something before then?

Or just cave and ask Himura-chan's opinion?

Eh, who knows.

Either way, he was actually rather grateful for this punishment. It's good to have things put into perspective every so often. She probably didn't meant to, telling him about her fall from grace. But her story really pumped Nishinoya up. After all, if she felt that much pain, that much heartache, over not being able to compete. Well then she must have really loved her sport.

Must have really given it her all.

Because Nishinoya noticed, that in all her reminiscing, she had-not once-wished she'd never found her passion. In all her anger, all her pain, she had still _only wanted to compete_. And despite everything that had happened, she still _**called herself a 'gymnast.'**_

It was really inspiring.

"I wonder, if I got injured, would I still be able to introduce myself as a libero?"


	4. Friendship

_"In French, you don't really say 'I miss you.'_

_You say 'tu me manques,' which is closer to 'you are missing from me.'_

_I love that. "You are missing from me."_

_You are apart of me, you are essential to my being._

_You are like a limb, or an organ, or blood._

_I cannot function without you."_

_**~ Normal... But Not Real? ~**_

* * *

I'd first realized I had become friends with Nishinoya about four days after I'd met him. This had come as quite a shock to me, as not only was I unused to having friends...but I had only known him for _four days_.

Now when I say "unused to" I do not mean to imply that I _hadn't _had friends during my first sixteen years of life.

I'd had many.

Tons in fact.

They weren't just for show either, we'd do all the typical friend things; go over to each others house, give each other gifts for birthdays or holidays, even call each other up to rant about this or that.

My friendships weren't shallow, either, I knew what my friends greatest fears were, all about their dreams for the future. I knew about their crushes, and their secrets. I knew _them._

But...

They didn't know _me_.

It's not that they didn't care about me, I just had the unfortunate habit of always being the "odd one out." I never made friends with one person, but always a group. Or if I did make friends with one person they were, somehow, _already_ friends with my friends-and closer friends at that.

I was never excluded or anything.

They all treated me kindly.

But the fact was that I was always just the slightest bit _off_. I always felt like a guest amongst my clique. I would see these shows or read these books about great friendships, about people willing to give _anything _and _everything_ for each other, and I could just _tell_ that mine weren't that strong.

And I was so certain about this because I _had _had real friends before. Had felt like I'd belong. Had been comfortable enough to say and do _whatever_ in their presence.

Before I'd moved in fourth grade.

So when I say I was "unused to" friendship, I meant the type of friendship where you'd go out of your way to do a favor for said friend-not because they asked, but because you _know _that they would _**never**_ ask.

Ironically enough, that was how I'd realized Nishinoya and I had become friends in the first place.

He'd offered to help me.

Well, to be more accurate, he had offered to teach me his "Super!Awesomely-Cool!" move. Now, I had only known Nishinoya for about four days at this point. That was long enough to understand a bit of what makes him tick, but not nearly long enough to make guesses as to his reasoning behind things.

Not to mention this was the day after I had word-vomited on him. (In my defense I had gotten a call a few hours earlier from a rival who had just heard the news and wanted to apologize. The worst part? She'd been completely sincere.) So I wasn't quite sure how to take this declaration.

Was he trying to show off? Trying to act like nothing had happened? Or was he going to be like so many before him and try and prove that my 'injury' was "no problem" try and prove that _he _could fix it?!

Looking back it's funny that there was ever a time when I had understood Nishinoya so poorly.

As anyone who knew the libero could've guessed, his reasoning was none of the above. Rather it was exactly what he had said in the beginning. He knew a really cool move. He thought I could do said move. So he offered to teach me.

It truly was that simple.

He wasn't even trying to repay me for staying after everyday to help him with his block-follows.

I don't think that even registered as a chore to him, to be honest, which I can understand. I always took for granted the fact that my coaches probably _didn't _want to stay after spotting my fly-aways on bars, or my numerous tumble-runs on floor. (It sounds pretty selfish, but when you are so focused on improving yourself you tend to forget that others have to give up the time they could be focusing on _them _to focus on _you _instead.)

No, this wasn't an attempt to thank me. This wasn't an attempt to pity me. This wasn't even an attempt to condescend to me (Nishinoya is perhaps one of the most humble athletes I know-despite how often he brags). No, this was an attempt, pure and simple, to teach me.

Because I wanted to be taught.

To this day I don't know how he knew. I didn't love volleyball. I didn't want to become some amazing player that everyone would remember. Heck, I didn't even want to play competitively. But I _did _want my arms to make that beautiful "fwsh" noise that he so effortlessly commanded. I _did_ want to be able to not only re-act, but _re-direct _the ball. I wanted, in a sense, to look half-as-cool as Nishinoya whenever I received.

Of course such a selfish thought stayed locked tightly in my heart-he was here to train so that he could watch his teammates backs. So that he could help lead them to Nationals. Watch his Ace, who was in his final year, break through the 'iron wall.' And I wanted him to take time out of his busy schedule to train me, so that I could "look cooler"?

Please.

As if I'd _ever_ let that slip.

But-somehow-Nishinoya realized I wanted to learn. Even when I denied it. Even when I called him an idiot for so much as suggesting it. Even when I threatened to _stop showing up_ if the freakin' idiot didn't just _**drop it**_.

He still pressed me.

And, by the end of that fourth day, pinky in pain from continually returning the ball poorly (stupid tendons connecting everything), and wide smile from the _one _perfect return I'd executed. I couldn't deny that, somehow, in the loosest of terms, Nishinoya and I had become friends.

Not when his smile was ten-times brighter than mine-though there for the same reason. Not when he started jumping around yelling about "'mura-chan" this and "'mura-chan" that, and not when he didn't so much as bat an eye when I called him "Shinoya-baka."

After all, when a guy takes it in stride that you call him "idiot," you _know _you're friends.

* * *

Nishinoya was freaking out.

It had been about twenty minutes since he'd left 'mura-chan at her house and started his walk home-he didn't feel right letting her walk home alone after she had just bawled her eyes out in front of him-and he was still _freaking out_.

Nishinoya was a guy.

He was _not_ made to deal with such dangerous things as a girl crying!

And 'mura-chan hadn't even been crying that much! She'd been trying really hard to hold it in! He had only counted about two or three tears that made it past her iron-clad control.

But somehow, the knowledge that she _didn't _let herself cry in front of him, was _even worse. _Yet he knew that if she _had _let go and started bawling, he wouldn't have been able to do anything more than what he'd already done-just stand there-and that would've made him feel _horrible._

_So what did I want her to do, then? Just __**not **__feel sad that her life's dream was over?_

Thus, Nishinoya was freaking out.

He had been pacing in his bedroom for fifteen minutes.

He hadn't even heard his mother call him to help set the table, so lost in his thoughts of. _What am I going to say tomorrow Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. _Except, you know, more manly.

Thus, it mustn't come as much of a surprise that his Mother managed to sneak up on the Libero and quickly deduced that he had something on his mind.

"Yuu?"

"Wha-?" Nishinoya spun around instantly, face a picture of surprise. "Kaa-san! Don't scare me like that!"

"Don't take that tone with me, young man. I've been calling you for that past five-minutes. It's not my fault that you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to take notice."

"..." he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" A raised eyebrow.

"Ah! Nothing, nothing." He denied, rapidly shaking his head. "Just...just a problem I'm stuck on."

"Oh?" Nishinoya's mom questioned, leaving the opening for her son. A pause. "Anything I can help with?" She prompted after he failed to read her queue.

Nishinoya automatically started shaking his head, "No. It's nothing you'd under-wait! Mom! You're a girl!"

"Well, I'd like to think of myself as more of a woman."

"No!" Nishinoya scowled, why did parents have to make everything so much harder than need be? "What I meant was, you're a girl so you should know how a girl would want me to react to making her cry!"

At a 'I need an explanation, _right now_, young man' look. Nishinoya realized what exactly, he had just said.

"No-wait-I didn't mean _I _made her cry! Well I kinda did...but it wasn't really _me_! I mean-I think-Gah! It's complicated."

"Then explain it to me." And so he did. Nishinoya sat down with his mom at the dinner table-his father was out of town for business-and told her everything. Starting with meeting 'mura-chan after she offered to be the blocker for his drills. And ending with the tragic story Nishinoya had only heard himself about two hours ago.

"...and I don't know how I'm supposed to react tomorrow! I mean, how am I meant to treat her?! Should I act like nothing's happened? But then she might feel I think she's overreacting. But if I make a big deal about it she'll think that her telling me changed how I think about her-and it didn't! Well it _did _but only for the better! Now I think she's even _stronger _than before. I mean, if that had happened to me, I don't know how I would have reacted!"

"Probably much the same way."

"Huh?" Nishinoya couldn't understand the soft smile his mother was sporting. After all, this was a serious matter!

"What I mean is," she began, her eyes twinkling, "this Himura-san sounds very similar to you, Yuu. At least as far as her love for her sport is concerned. I think you've gotten too caught up in how she would want you to react _as a girl. _I think that is doing her a great disservice, don't you? From what you've told me you should be far more concerned with how she would want you to react _as an athlete."_

Understanding dawned in Nishinoya's eyes.

"I think," his mother continued, "it was a great stroke of luck that the two of you met. After all, there are probably very few people who Himura-san can relate to, and I imagine a vast majority of them she's trying to avoid at the moment. Treat her like you'd want to be treated in that situation and I think you'll be fine."

Nishinoya nodded, taking his mother's advice to heart.

Already so many little things 'mura-chan did were starting to make much more sense.

Her insistence that they dedicate thirty minutes to stretching everyday-she didn't want to lose what little connection she still had to her sport.

Her refusal to contemplate taking up volleyball-she didn't want to contemplate that her sport was replaceable.

And her refusal to cry in front of Nishinoya when sharing her pain-she didn't want to come across as weak, not as a person, but as an _athlete._

Suddenly tomorrow didn't seem so daunting. After all Nishinoya knew that if he were in 'mura-chans shoes, the one thing he would want most, would be the one thing he would refuse to acknowledge-even to himself. After all, it would feel too much like a betrayal.

But, still, if he _had _to give up volleyball. If he had _absolutely __**no choice**_. Then, in the deepest parts of his heart, he would be hoping for someone to come along and show him that there was more to life than his sport. More to life than the net, court, and ball.

Oh, he would fight them. He would yell, and kick, and scream, and _denydenydeny_ but, in the deepest parts of his heart, he would be happy.

It was this thought that Nishinoya clung to when he kept pressing 'mura-chan to let him teach her his cool move. It was all about returning the ball with one arm, by curling your fist inward the ball would shoot nearly directly up. It was great for saving any plays that hit the net on the second pass. Of course it required nearly no hesitation, but he was confident 'mura-chan would get it.

And she did.

In record time too! It only took her about five hours. Which, was actually really very fast.

Nishinoya couldn't help but wonder how good she'd be if she could jump-could _dive_-but that was not important, because at least she could _play. _And if she wanted to call him an idiot for bringing that smile out of her he would gladly accept it. After all, he was smart enough to catch onto the fact that he was no-longer "Nishinoya-san."

* * *

It's funny how fast time flies when you have someone to spend it with.

When I first met 'shinoya-baka and learned that he would be there to help me kill boredom for a week, all I thought was "cool, a whole week down." But by the end of his suspension I couldn't help the incredulous thought of "it's been a week _already_."

A sentiment that was apparently shared with 'shinoya, who kept glancing at his phone's calendar as if doing so would somehow change the date.

It was kind of scary, in a way.

That I had spent paradoxically so little and yet so much time with this guy. On one hand, I had only known him for about five days. Six days ago if someone had said "Nishinoya Yuu" I would've had no clue who they were talking about.

On the other hand I had spent over ten hours a day in his presence. Ten hours, playing sports with him-which to two competitive people was about the fastest way to build a friendship. Ten hours talking about whatever popped into mind. Ten hours spent _confiding_ in him. Five of which I would now have to fill with something-or someone-else.

Oh, he wasn't completely abandoning me. True he had to attend school again, but he still had three weeks before he could go back to club activities. He promised me he'd be here by 14:30 everyday, and that he could still come in the mornings on weekends. Even had us exchange numbers so that there was no chance of missing each other.

I couldn't squash the feeling of betrayal though.

It was completely ridiculous, I told myself, shinoya-baka was going to _school_. It's not as if he had a choice in the matter, and if he did I knew that would be the last place he'd go. The last five days had probably been heaven to him. Doing nothing but playing his sport day-in and day-out, with someone who never told him things like "are we done yet?" or "can we _please_ take a break now?" I _knew_ he wasn't looking forward to sitting in classes, listening to his sensei drone on-and-on.

I _**knew**_ this.

Yet I was stupidly, _incorrigibly, UNREPENTANTLY,_ jealous.

Not of 'shinoya. No, I did not envy his situation. Rather I was jealous of all of his classmates who would get to see him at their leisure. Jealous of his schoolmates that would get to share lunch with him. Jealous-even-of his teammates, to whom (and for whom) he would _always _return. In short, I was jealous of everyone who would get to spend time with _my_ friend, while I was forced to sit in this dusty old gym.

Broken and alone.

Of course these were thoughts that I kept buried deep in my psyche. Hidden beneath false smiles and repeated lines of "no, no, I'm fine." After all, I had no right to be so possessive. 'shinoya may have been my only friend at the moment-I was never really friends with my teammates, and the few friends I had apparently didn't feel the need to keep contact after I'd moved-but he had plenty of friends himself.

Friends who'd probably been worried about him. Who were, probably, eagerly awaiting his return. Friends who wouldn't begrudge him the friendship of the ratty little girl who he met at his local rec-center. In a word? Friends who were much better at friendship than me.

So I let him go without much fuss. Shrugged it off as if this happened all the time. As if I made it a habit to bare my soul to complete strangers and then allow them to teach me random sports. I wasn't that a good a friend anyway, I'd told myself, I would have only dragged him down. This was for the best.

But no matter how much I tried to convince myself with empty platitudes. The fact was, it hurt.

That first Monday, it took all I had to sit around and wait for him to keep his promise. By Thursday I made it a point to not even show up at the gym until half-an-hour before 'shinoya himself. By Saturday I had all but forgotten what it felt like to practice all day with him.

And on Sunday, the one day 'shinoya had completely off of school, I all but cried when he text me to let me know he'd meet me at "our place" at ten.

I hadn't put that much energy into a sport in a while.

Of course the euphoria crashed around me when I realized that I was just setting myself up for even greater disappointment. After all, another week had just gone by. I had two weeks left with this flimsy schedule before Nishinoya could return to club, and then my time with him would be cut even shorter.

I couldn't keep doing this.

I couldn't live my life so wrapped around one person. Friend or no. It simply wasn't healthy. It was in that moment that I understood why sensei was so against me continuing to be homeschooled. I wasn't in the greatest of places psychologically. The last thing I needed to deal with was this depressing feeling of isolation.

It was as if a wall had risen up between me and 'shinoya. He was on one side, surrounded by a million face-less students, all living their lives in ignorant bliss. And I was on the other side, completely alone. Cloaked in shadows and cold. Forced to watch, chained, as the one person I could really connect to drifted farther and farther away.

It is hard to explain how I felt during those three weeks that I tried to juggle my friendship with 'shinoya with this growing feeling of _this is not right_ of _I can't keep doing this_. I'd felt as if a weight had settle firmly in my stomach, as if gravity had increased around me. Every color was a little duller, every noise a little more washed out. I was retreating from the world, bit-by-bit, and I wasn't even noticing.

Luckily for me, my friend was.

I couldn't see myself, during those three weeks, so I have no idea what I truly looked like. But if Nishinoya was to be believed then it was something like a cross-between a "newly raised zombie" and an "insomniac vampire"...whatever _that _means.

Apparently he'd been spending weeks trying to figure out what was wrong. But I'd always shrugged him off with a forced-smile and an "I"m alright." To this day and I don't remember this...which is rather scary in and of itself. In fact I don't remember interacting with anyone at all. It was as if my head was completely submerged underwater. Light and sound was distorted and I sort of just...floated, through the day.

It wasn't until the last Friday before 'shinoya's punishment ended that he managed to get through to me.

I don't know what he had been saying to me before hand, I don't even remember talking to him at all. All I remember is the moment the light shifted in his eyes, and something solidified in his gaze. And the next thing I knew my cheek was _burning._

"You..." I muttered, surprised, hand raising to my cheek, "...slapped me?" No anger, just shock. Total shock. "Why?" I muttered, sluggishly confused.

"W-why?" He sputtered, indignant. "_Why?!_" I flinched back at the tone his voice had taken. High-pitched and just a little bit...was that worry I heard? "She asks me _why_?" Nishinoya continued, muttering to himself.

It was in that moment that I finally started taking notice of my surroundings. Mainly the way Nishinoya's arms were shaking, the way his whole body was tense as if he was a second from punching someone out, and the way his eyes kept scanning over me as if to make sure I was uninjured.

Which was completely ridiculous, I hadn't injured myself since I'd stubbed my toe yesterday...yesterday? No, that was a few days ago? Weeks?...when _had _that happened? And for that matter, when had I last eaten? Or showered? What had I been doing for the last two weeks?!

"...and then I got so worried I had to ask Sugawara-senpai for advice, and _he _said that this all sounded very bad. So by then I was completely freaking out you know? And I kept trying to talk to you. But you just _wouldn't answer me!_ So I figured, well if _nothing else _was working-"

"...'shinoya," I sheepishly interrupted. "What day is it?"

This seemed to stop Nishinoya's rant cold. "...'mura-chan," he began, quietly, "it's April 23rd...three days before the end of my punishment." The shock must have registered on my face because he slowly continued. Filling me in on how I had stopped talking over a week ago. On how I continued to show up to the rec-center, and would play with him, but it was completely robotic, as if I wasn't even there. How he completely flipped and started running around asking anyone he thought might be able to help for advice. And how he'd decided to drag me to the doctor if he couldn't snap me out of it today.

By the end of it all I was so confused that when 'shinoya asked me to _please_ tell him what was wrong, I didn't even think to censor my thoughts. And let him realize exactly how pathetic I was. How I was a horrible, possessive, jealous, creature who seemed to self-destruct over the stupidest of reasons. Perhaps I had realized what I was about to say and chose to say it anyway, in the hopes of driving 'shinoya away from the mess that was 'me.'

I do know that I was completely convinced that 'shinoya would leave, disgusted by the time I was done. After all there was no way to peaceful resolve this. I wanted to spend time with 'shinoya, and he had a life. It was a simple as that.

Except it was even simpler.

"Huh." Nishinoya muttered, an incomprehensible look in his eye. "So you were lonely?" He then reached over and patted me on the head...like a dog. Before solving all of my problems with a crooked smile. "Why not enroll in Karasuno, then?"

Leaning back, hands in his pockets and head tilted to the side, only one thought registered.

_Nishinoya...he's kind of cool, isn't he?_


	5. Fidgeting

_"We can throw stones, complain about them,  
__stumble on them, climb over them,  
__or build with them."_

_**~ William Arthur Ward ~**_

* * *

I had always known that there was no greater enemy than the mind.

Than _my _mind.

It was a lesson I had learned early on in my career as a gymnast.

I think I was six years old when I'd first internalized the lesson. I'd been learning how to do a cartwheel on the beam. I'd had it down. Could do it a hundred times in a row on the floor, perfect form. Hands and feet both staying on the tape (which was thinner than the beam).

Moving on to floor beams and still I'd been perfect.

Hand, hand, foot, foot, and salute. A rhythmic movement that was (that had been) so much a part of me, I'd taken to using it in place of walking (you could travel further, faster, if you cartwheeled there.)

This was something I _knew_.

This was a skill I'd _had_.

But, the second I'd gotten to the high-beam, I'd lost it.

It wasn't fear, I do not—_did _not—have a fear of heights. And I'd still made an honest attempt—despite how often my feet had missed the mark. It wasn't fear, but it _was_ mental. As a six year old I hadn't quite been able to wrap my head around the concept.

Logic told me (the amount of logic at my disposal at that age) that I should have been fine. The only difference between the Low and High Beam, after all, was the height. And if_height_ didn't bother me, then (according to logic) I should've been fine.

Luckily, my coach had taken me aside, and explained—in a way that I could understand—that it wasn't my body betraying me, but my mind.

You hear it all the time in sports movies; "they're spending too much time in their head" or "get your head in the game." But very few people ever bother explaining what that actually means, and so many—erroneously—go on believing it means 'focus'.

And, while they're not _wrong_ they are not exactly _right_, either. Focus wasn't my problem. Focus I had down. I _had been_ focused on that beam, I had known exactly what to do and I'd _gone_ _for_ _it_...and failed.

Every time.

No, when my coach had said "your head is getting in the way." What he'd meant was, "you are assigning too much importance to the event." You care too much. You're letting it get to you. You're too invested. All equally valid, all equally true.

And, as a result, I was _thinking_ too much.

When something is important to you, you tend to emphasize it in your psyche, which leads to increased levels of adrenaline (not cohesive to balance). Your timing gets thrown off; a speech that you swore was 3 minutes long barely scrapes 2. A wait that should only have been half-an-hour seems to drag on the whole day, a day of fun seems to last but an hour, etc.

Your timing gets thrown off, and so does your perception. You start looking at details, as opposed to the whole picture. Focusing on the gears, and cogs, and how every little thing works together, rather than acknowledging what they are working together to _do_.

Rather than just letting your body _flow_.

Rather than just letting it _happen_.

So, yes, I had always known there was no greater enemy than the mind. But I had never thought to apply this fact outside of my sport. I knew my mental block was, well, _mental _and I knew it had a direct—and undeniable—effect on my lifestyle. But it was still a _sports_ injury. So, clearly, it only bore weight in _sports_.

Or so I'd thought.

I still thought of it in terms of gymnastics. In terms of _I_ _can't_ _compete_ and _I_ _can't_ _**jump**_. It was mental—sure—and it had a physical component, but...it wasn't _dangerous_. At least, not that I'd noticed...there is a saying, "the greatest enemy is the one you can't see."

And the thing that I had never noticed, was that (ever since gaining my ankle injury) my greatest enemy, was _me._

Well...never noticed until that first day of classes, I should say.

* * *

Nishinoya was fidgeting.

His foot tapping the floor, his leg vibrating up-and-down.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He was also playing with his pencil, trying to get it to match the tempo of his leg. It was all he could do to stay seated. He'd always been a little restless in class, but normally he could keep it under control. Take an impromptu nap, doodle new returns, make up names for his current receives, whatever.

He could keep himself entertained easy enough. You didn't make it to high school without mastering that, after all.

But, that was _normally._

Today, however, today was _different._

Today 'mura-chan was joining his class! And how cool was that? That she was not only joining Karasuno but Nishinoya's _class! _He just couldn't wait to introduce her to Ryuu! He knew they'd get along great. And then, then Karasuno'd better look out! 'cuz everyone knew that you weren't a proper squad 'til a girl joined. Two guys and one girl, it was a _fact_.

The next ten minutes were spent with Nishinoya imagining himself, Ryuu, and 'mura-chan as a genin-squad. They'd make great shinobi, he was sure. He'd be the scout of the group, all fast and sharp, 'zwhoop' he's behind the enemy 'zwoosh' he drew his sword. "Gotcha."

And Ryuu! He'd be the muscle, the one Nishinoya trusted to watch 'mura-chan while he was scouting ahead. 'mura-chan wouldn't want to be protected, he knew, but they'd explain that they couldn't let their master-mind get hurt! And she'd probably just sigh, resigned. "Fine, play hero."

They wouldn't just be saying it, too. Nishinoya knew that if they were really a squad then 'mura-chan would _definitely _be the strategist. The one to come up with the plans that would let Nishinoya go 'zwhoop' and 'zwhoosh'.

"—new student; Himura Setsuna. Please introduce yourself, Himura-san."

Nishinoya's head snapped up, instantly locking eyes with his newest friend. How long had he been zoning out? Ah, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that 'mura-chan's here now! Which meant that they'd...get...to...

She was nervous.

He could tell.

She didn't look it, but Nishinoya still remembered how she'd looked when speaking about her injury. Remembered the tension in her fists, the rigidity of her shoulders. The way her entire body seemed to scream _mess with me, I __**dare**_ _you. _And, he remembered her rocking back on her heels.

She wasn't that bad now, nowhere near close, but she _was_ rocking on her heels, hands behind her back. And Nishinoya knew that meant she was nervous. So he did the only thing he could do, he broke the tension.

"Hey-o! 'mura-chan, over here! You can sit next to me!"

She turned to face him...and...blinked.

Well, that was rather anticlimactic, still he'd seemed to have gotten passed whatever was getting to her as she'd settled into a proper stance before bowing to the class, "_It's nice to make your acquaintance."* _And introducing herself. Huh, now that he'd thought on it, they'd never actually exchanged introductions, had they?

* * *

I was fidgeting.

Standing outside the door to my new class, rocking back-and-forth on my heels as I waited for my new sensei to call me in. I hated fidgeting. Whether it was me bouncing up and down like a hyped up bunny, irritatingly tapping my fingers against my leg, or just playing with the hem of my school shirt.

I hated all of it.

Fidgeting was a sign of restlessness, a sign of _pent up energy_. I hadn't had energy to spare since I was six, and hadn't fidgeted since around the same time. Fidgeting was just another ugly reminder that my life had changed.

Also, it was annoying.

Like a constant reminder that I wasn't at peace. Wasn't calm. And wasn't in control. I wouldn't even notice it until after the fact. Wouldn't notice I was rocking until I accidentally fell back and thunked my head on the wall. Or that I was tapping my leg until I thought to check what time it was on my phone, and noticed my hand was a bit preoccupied.

It felt like my body was betraying me. Broadcasting my nerves to world. And what was I nervous about? It was just school, I was really only here to socialize anyway. I had no fear that the school work would be hard (not when I'd been able to teach it to myself). And I already had a friend, so it's not like I needed to worry about that...

At the thought of seeing 'shinoya-baka my stomach clenched.

Alright, so maybe I was a "little" worried about seeing him. It's not like I thought he'd ignore me, or anything. I knew Nishinoya well enough to know that he wasn't the kind of guy to such a thing...intentionally.

And I guess that's really what was getting to me.

It was one thing to hang out, one-on-one, just the two of us. I understood that dynamic, I was comfortable with it. But, here? Where he's surrounded by people that he's known longer and probably cares for more? I'm sure he'd try to hang with me...but what if I didn't get along with his friends?

Or worse, what if they didn't get along with _me_?

What if they thought I was a distraction? Or that I wasn't good enough for their "guardian deity"? Or-or, I don't know, that I was some crazy fangirl stalker!...okay the last one was a little farfetched. But in my defense that is totally something that could happen in all the sports-manga I've read.

Oh, no.

I hope 'shinoya doesn't have any fangirls...he's definitely got the disposition for it. I really didn't fancy getting bullied. Not that I'd let any bullies get away with such things, nor would Nishinoya for that matter, but still.

Although, he did say that his team hadn't won anything in years...so they probably don't have too many fans now that I think about.

Okay, alright, I needed to calm down. Sensei could call me in any second and I'm only making things worse by pani-

"I'd like to introduce a new student; Himura Setsuna."

_"Oh, crap, oh crap."_ I thought while sliding the door open.

"Please introduce yourself, Himura-san." Sensei called, and it was all I could do to keep a calm facade. "_Just keep breathing," _I thought as I scanned the sea of faces for some familiarity. Stopping the second I found 'shinoya. _"Oh crap, oh crap_." I mentally reiterated, desperately trying to read his mind. What should I be doing? What should I be saying? Should I acknowledge that we know each other or—

"Hey-o! 'mura-chan, over here! You can sit next to me!" A voice rung out, snapping me from my reverie. And all I could do was blink as 'shinoya waved his arm back and forth, as if I wasn't staring straight at him. _Honestly, does he have any tact?_

Still, the reassurance that he wasn't going to be embarrassed by me. Wasn't going to ignore me (regardless of how unfounded the fear was to begin with) was enough to settle my nerves. And with confidence I hadn't felt since the opening ceremonies of my last meet, I bowed.

"_It's nice to make your acquaintance. My name is Himura Setsuna; written with the Kanji for 'Sun' and 'Sadness'. I am 155 cm tall, weigh 44 kg, and have blood type O negative. I enjoy maths and sports, and dislike history. Please take care of me!"_

Finishing the generic introduction, I quickly glanced at sensei to see where I should sit. Bemused he just tilted his head to the class. "Well," he began, "I believe you already know Nishinoya-san. Why don't we make his day, ne?"

And that was how I found myself seated next to 'shinoya.

Funny, when he fidgets it seems...cute?

* * *

The first half of the day passed in 'relative' calm.

After getting caught talking (re: screaming), Nishinoya had given up on overt methods of communication. Reverting, instead, to the age-old art of _note passing_. Which, if anyone bothered to ask him, was even better than simply "talking" as this way both he and 'mura-chan were getting practice being extra sneaky.

Still, he couldn't believe his luck!

Ryuu wasn't in Nishinoya's class. And seating assignments had been decided the first day of classes, and-as Nishinoya was not present-he'd found himself in the unenviable middle desks. (Not far back enough to get away with murder, and not close enough to joke around with sensei.) Surrounded by a sea of students, but desk-partners with none.

It was hell to the social libero.

But Hell quickly became Heaven when 'mura-chan arrived! Already he'd managed to completely ignore maths, and zip through most of English. All without taking a nap! And all because 'mura-chan was there to respond to his notes. Speaking of...

_**[Hey, 'mura-chan? Why d'ya respond?]**_

He quickly scribbled in the corner of his notebook, before angling it so that it bumped 'mura-chan's elbow. She immediately glanced down, and Nishinoya watched as her brows furrowed, before she mimicked his actions in her own notebook.

_**[What kind of question is that? And write properly, I could barely read that.]**_

Nishinoya snickered, that response was just so _her._ He decided to reply in kind.

_**[Nya! 'mura-chan's strict! I meant, why **__**did you**_ _**respond to my note?]**_

A pause. Another furrowed brow-and Nishinoya randomly decided he needed to confuse her more often-and a crisp response. Each kanji presented with perfect stroke order and location.

_**[...because you wrote it? What kind of question is that 'shinoya-baka?]**_

Now that wasn't very fair. It was a good question...just not a very _clear_ question. Perhaps he should elaborate?

_**[Ne, it's a good one! Aren't you like, super smart?]**_

He quickly showed the words to 'mura-chan before motioning for her to wait. Flipping the page of his notebook, he continued with his defense.

_**[You should've been all "shh, I'm trying to study here." And bonked me on the head! Or something.]**_

The look 'mura-chan gave him nearly had Nishinoya rolling around in laughter. It was a mix between _are-you-serious?_ and _what-have-I-gotten-myself-into_?! And when her response was three carefully drawn circles;

_**[...]**_

Well, was it any wonder Nishinoya face turned purple from holding his breath (holding his laughter)?

_**['mura-chan?]**_

He pleaded.

He needed a distraction before sensei turned their way and started questioning Nishinoya's smile. Especially as he was normally asleep at this point in the class. Citing some excuse such as "I already know English." Never-mind that he only knew such pithy phrases as 'one-man army'.

_**[You know this isn't an anime, right? Girls don't really do that...]**_

W-wha...what?

_**[Nani?!]**_

What did she mean, girls didn't really do that?

Then what about his dreams to have a cute girlfriend who got fussed when he distracted her with a; "Yuu-kun~ stop it!" and a bonk on the head that wouldn't really hurt (because he's tough like that.) Nishinoya hung his head, feeling like he'd just lost a piece of his child-hood.

So busy was he with his wallowing that he didn't notice 'mura-chan had kept writing until he glanced up...and froze.

"Woah." he whispered.

She'd written a _paragraph_ while he'd been busy.

"Sugoi~."

_**[Besides, I'm a pretty lazy student. Gymnastics meant I never had much time for classwork, so I got really good at test-taking. As long as I read the chapter before the exam I'll be fine...except in History. But I'm going to fail that no matter what, so, meh.]**_

"Nishinoya-san, perhaps you'd like to share what is so 'amazing' with the rest of the class?" Sensei called.

"...eh."

"Hmm, nothing? Alright, then please show me you were paying attention and translate this sentence."

Glancing at the board where the sentence _'Alice is a student at Harvard University'*_ was written, Nishinoya gulped.

He could pick out the important words, like _"student"_ and _"university"_ but what did _"at"_ mean again? Was it like the particle 'no'? Was "Arisu" a University Student? Was that the sentence? And what the heck was a '_Harvard_' anyway?

Eyes darting around, looking for an answer, a sign, anything! Caused Nishinoya to be a little distracted, so he nearly jumped five feet when he felt something bump his wrist. Luckily he didn't, but he did glance down...and thank Kami he had! For there, nestled between all the notes they'd been passing, was a single sentence.

**[****アリスは、ハーバード大学の学生です****]**

And with it Nishinoya's ticket to freedom.

_"Arisu wa, Haa-b..v..bvaa-do daigaku no gakusei desu." _He stuttered out, stumbling over the complicated pronunciation. He could barely pronounce the katakana the way he knew it was meant to be read! How would he ever get to the point where he could confidently say '_Harvard_'?!

And how had 'mura-chan known the answer? She'd been paying less attention than him! And she hadn't even thought about it! Just glanced at the board, and written the answer for him.

As Sensei dismissed them for lunch, and he started dragging her off to meet the team, only one thought was running through Nishinoya's head.

_" 'mura-chan...I don't really know you, ne?"_

* * *

*** **_**Hajimemashite/Yoroshiku Onegaishimasu**_: Typical way to begin/end an introduction in Japan. As is the way she gave her name, the equivalent of English speakers saying "Hi I'm Lindsy McDougall...that's Lindsy with a 'y' and McDougall..._not_ MacDougall."

*** "Arisu wa..."** Sorry if this is really off/unrealistic. Obviously I am not (nor have I ever been) a native Japanese-speaker learning English. But I am learning Japanese, and I have studied a Foreign language for years before; French. And, if my studies have taught me anything, it's that the nouns have nothing on the particles. (I'd imagine even more so, coming from the incredibly succinct Japanese language, to English.)


	6. Lunch

_"Do not wait; the time will never be 'just right.'_  
_Start where you stand, and work with whatever tools you may have at your command,_  
_and better tools will be found as you go along."_

_**~ George Herbert ~**_

* * *

High school is like a cocktail of emotions…no that's not right. More like a Molotov cocktail. One spark from an incendiary reaction. Everywhere you look is a bomb just waiting to blow. Everyone is balancing on their own precipice, one card from caving in. And, maybe it's luck, or fate, or just damn good timing, but the majority of us make it out.

The majority of us survive.

The rest, however, are left to pick up the pieces.

There is a saying out there, that something—once broken—can never be truly repaired._ "All the king's horses, and all the king's men…"_ And in a way that is true. That's not to say that you lose all your worth when you break. Some people come out the better for it, some people come out stronger.

Like a bone on the mend, more sturdy, and far less likely to break again.

But, whether the break was good, or bad, it doesn't change the fact that it initiates change. Whether for better or worse, the "you" you put together, is undeniably different, from the "you" of the past.

The problem, however, comes from those who were intimately aware of themselves. Their habits, their motives, their actions. Those who have taken the time to analyze the "whys" of their own psyche, are the ones the most affected by the knowledge that they've _changed_.

Or, at least, that is how I felt.

My life from "before" was incredibly regimented. There was very little variance in my day-to-day interactions. Go to club, go to class, go to practice, go home. And repeat. Squeezing in such luxuries as "homework" and "sleep" in the time it took to travel from points A to B to C, and such.

Thus I managed to fall into a certain "rhythm". I put in just enough energy to get me to where I needed to be (practice) where I would then give it my all. This worked well for me, consistently scoring 70s (because I could only be bothered to study 70% of the material). Eating simple meals of rice and fish (since it made sense just to pack my leftovers from breakfast). Cycling through the same two outfits on weekends (since it would take too long to have to choose something.)

It worked well for me…but it created this illusion that I lived at the gym. This illusion that life started, and stopped, when I put on my leotard. This illusion, in a word, of control.

And then the illusion shattered.

And I was left to pick up the pieces, left to live a life that I had _no clue_ how to navigate. Left to deal with change, and variance, and a general _lack of control_.

And it was terrifying.

I don't think I appreciated just how terrifying until I was staring down a group of strangers with nothing but 'shinoya to back me.

Worse, _he_ was the one who'd dragged me off to see them. Something about "getting to meet the team" or something. All I knew was the past 'me' would've probably been aloof. Would've probably given the least amount of energy needed to seem civil. Would've done just about anything other than stutter helplessly while bowing _way_ too deep.

"N-n-nice t-to meet you! I'm Himura Setsuna! Friend of 'shinoya!"

But, I guess, being aloof is a lot harder when you actually _care._

* * *

Sugawara wasn't sure what to expect, today.

It had been a big enough surprise to learn that Nishinoya had made a friend during his suspension. A friend he'd made _while practicing volleyball_. (Not that he wasn't incredibly friendly, but Nishinoya did tend to get distracted when it came to the sport he loved.) But that surprise paled in comparison to learning his friend was a _girl_.

Less so because of her, and more so because Sugawara was very aware of how shy Nishinoya could be around girls. Especially girls his own age, whom he couldn't act the 'senpai' around.

It wasn't immediately obvious, mind you, but Sugawara was nothing if not attentive. And he knew. As sure as the *evening sun sets in the western valley, he knew Nishinoya should not have been able to strike up a conversation with her.

Unless...

"N-n-nice t-to meet you! I'm Himura Setsuna! Friend of 'shinoya!"

"Nice to meet you, Himura-san. I am Sugawara Koshi. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He carefully intoned, returning her bow...at a more casual depth. "I wonder if you could indulge me..." he began eyes flying to their Libero, who suddenly froze, "...how exactly did you become friends with Nishinoya?"

"...how?" A tilt of her head, "what do you mean? We just talked, and played volleyball...and one day we were friends?"

"Yes," and weren't those the best types of friendships? Still... "that makes sense. But I meant more, how did you get Nishinoya to talk to you? After all, he can be very sh-"

"-ah! Ah!" Nishinoya screamed while literally diving to cover Sugawara's mouth, "th-that's enough! Yo-you're being rude, Suga! No-one else has gotten to introduce themselves!"

...interesting.

Nishinoya was embarrassed.

But was he embarrassed about the fact that he was (can be) shy? Or...was there more to this first meeting than Sugawara'd been told?

"Ah, sorry." A nod of the head, "that was very rude of me. I know Nishinoya has been eagerly awaiting a chance to introduce you to the team." Aww, now they were both blushing. Too cute. And by the look in Daichi's eyes, he'd caught on to Sugawara's plans.

"Speaking of," their captain called, while stepping up, "my name is Daichi Sawamura," a bow, "and I'm the captain of this little troublemaker. Pleased to make you acquaintance."

"A-Ah, likewise!"

"So, Himura-san," Daichi continued, eyes sparking with interest, "you mentioned playing volleyball with Nishinoya?"

Sugawara couldn't help but marvel at his captain's interrogation skills, already he'd managed to lull their libero into a false sense of security. Poor kid, he couldn't honestly expect them to pass up on an opportunity like this...it was a senpai's job to tease their kouhai, after all. (Or so Nishinoya would claim).

"Y-yes." Poor girl seemed terrified, as if the two of them were going to eat her or something, "But, I don't, that is to say, I-um..."

"Ne, 'mura-chan, it's okay. It's just Dachi and Suga, ya know? They're awesome! No worries, you can be yourself."

Sugawara couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the change that seemed to suddenly overcome the girl. It was as if Nishinoya's words had flipped a switch..and Sugawara couldn't help but privately muse if she really _didn't think_ she was allowed to be herself.

Which was...odd.

But, then again, it wasn't really his place to say, either way.

A deep breath, "sorry. Today has me a little out of sorts. What I meant to say was, 'yes' 'shinoya-baka," she paused, seemingly waiting for their reaction to the nickname, (at their non-reaction) she sighed in relief, and continued at a more relaxed pace. "Yes, I did become friends with him by playing volleyball...but, I'm not a volleyball player."

"Why not?"

...no one could accuse Daichi of being indirect.

"U-uh. I mean...there's no real 'why' to it? I'm just not? I don't even know all the rules, and I can only return the ball...and even that I've only been doing for a few months."

"Ehhhh?" Nishinoya screamed, causing Sugawara to turn to him with interest.

* * *

"Ehhh?"

Nishinoya couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Sure he knew that 'mura-chan wasn't a volleyball player, knew she was a novice. (Hadn't he himself been teaching her?) But, but, he didn't know she'd only _just_ learned how to return! (He just figured that she'd played recreationally).

"Why are you so surprised, 'shinoya-baka? Was I really that bad?"

"N-ne, this is a joke, right 'mura-chan? You must've played a bit in elementary school and just forgot?" But even as it left his mouth Nishinoya knew it to be wrong, there was no denying the confusion on her face (and how could she make confusion look cute? Really, the girls in this school were going to be the death of him.)

"...no? We spoke about this, already? The first time I'd held a volleyball was during rehab." Had they spoken about that? Probably...but Nishinoya had obviously missed this very important point. Not that it mattered, now that he knew, he knew what he had to do.

"You have to join the volleyball club!" This was sign. The libero gods had lead him to find a protege. Sure, 'mura-chan didn't know that he'd just signed on to be her Jedi-master (being a Libero was all about using 'The Force' after all) but she didn't need to...it was already written in the stars.

"...why?" Why? _Why?!_ Didn't she know? Couldn't she tell!? Had the stars not spoken to her?!

"Because you're a natural! I would've guessed you'd been playing since Junior High, at least! I mean, you've still got to practice. And it'd be even harder 'cause you can't jump. But, but, you've gotta _try_!"

Himura pulled a face at the suggestion, "I don't know...I mean, there's more to the game, right? Setting, and spiking, and such? I don't even know the rules...and it's not like I have any control over my returns. I can just _get there...that's_ it."

That's it? _That's it_? B-but, "that's the hardest part!"

She flinched in surprise, but Nishinoya just barreled on. "That's the hardest part, 'cause that means reading the ball's path, and acting fast enough to get into position! If you can _get there_ then all you gotta learn is the easy stuff, the 'FWOOSH' and 'SHWING' and-and, I can teach ya that!" It was true, too, proper form, cool techniques, Nishinoya could teach that to anyone. But reaction timing? Path reading? That only came with practice...or, it seemed, with natural instinct. (Although, it's not like she'd never done _sports_ so it wasn't entirely far-fetched that she could apply a skill or two.)

"Even if you say I'm a natural," Himura hedged, rocking back and forth (was she nervous again, why?) "I still think they'd want someone with experience...I mean, like I said...I can _only_ receive."

"Then only receive," Daichi interjected, a look of contemplation on his face. "This might not be my place...but if your only objection is that you think they can do better, then what's the harm in trying out? I know the girl's captain personally, and she would be more than happy to give you a chance. Their current Libero is a third year, and I know she wants to continue on to University. I'm sure it would help her out to know there was a Kouhai to help out if she was busy."

Nishinoya caught the pleading look Himura sent him. He wasn't sure...but it probably read something like; 'you know that's not my _only objection,_ help me out here, would you?' And, Nishinoya knew that he probably should've helped her out...but the truth was...he wasn't quite over the scare from earlier.

He wasn't quite over the zombie-Himura, he'd seen.

And while he didn't really understand everything about that time, he knew that a big part of it was him leaving her alone...but he also knew that he couldn't _always_ be with her. So, this was the next best thing.

"Ne, just think about it, 'kay? I mean, you're always complaining about how you have too much time, and you don't wanna lose all your skills and stuff! And our practices would match up! You live by the river right?" Himura nodded, "Then you could even walk home with me an' Ryuu!"

At this point Suga cut in with-a "now, I think we've pressured her enough. Why don't we let the poor girl be." But, for the millionth time, Himura surprised him. Shaking her head, and looking up with a smile, (and, no, Nishinoya was not blushing, thank you very much!) she chuckled.

"I'm find Sugawara-san, thanks for worrying. I think," here she tilted her head in contemplation, before nodding to herself, "no, I _know_ you're right. Sounds like fun. You'll have to teach me all the rules though, 'kay? During Math? Can't have me showing up to practice without even knowing that much!"

...and once again Nishinoya was reminded of why it was so much fun having a friend in his class.

"Un! Now let's go find Ryuu! Bye Suga, Daichi! See you after class!"

* * *

Setsuna wasn't sure what to expect when Nishinoya had announced - the second lunch began - that she had to meet some upperclassmen, and dragged her out of their classroom. She sure didn't expect her quick introduction *cough* interrogation *cough* by the calm-looking senpai's. Nor the nerves that had kicked in...but, but these were people that 'shinoya _admired._ She wasn't quite sure how to act, but she was pretty certain it couldn't be as familiar as she'd been with 'shinoya.

They'd both seemed too formal for that.

But, as usual, Nishinoya had read her mind...and told her exactly what she'd needed to hear. "Be yourself," he'd said, not a hint of indecision on his face...so that's exactly who she was.

...and it was all downhill from there.

Honestly, she couldn't even pinpoint how it'd happened. One moment they were discussing how she and 'shinoya had become friends, the next she was being urged to join the girl's volleyball team.

Strange.

Her first instinct had been to shoot it down. After all, surely Nishinoya would understand? Volleyball, just wasn't her sport. Besides, who would want a neophyte like her? Completely ignoring the fact that she was damaged - no...no, she'd promised Nishinoya she'd work on that. Or, well, she'd promised she wouldn't melt down on him, which meant working on her self-disgust.

Still, a natural? That was far too big a step from 'damaged' for her to take...she'd just tell herself that she was simply more fit than most girls her age. After all, her reaction timing doesn't have to be good...if she's fast enough.

She still would've turned them down...if Nishinoya hadn't made such a good point. The truth is that she was bored, she did have too much free time. What was she going to do with it? Stalk him like some kind of freak? Sit in on his practices, his matches, his training camps? Sure she could probably join up as the manager and do that in an official capacity...but that just seemed a little pathetic.

She needed to make some new friends.

God. She didn't want to.

Still...it could be fun, right? Trying out a new sport? Learning new rules?

...right?

It was a good idea...and her decision most definitely had nothing to do with that little sparkle in Nishinoya's eye.

Nope.

Nothing.

She carefully pushed away the thought that the last time she'd gotten that close to passion, she'd gotten burned...it was different this time. She was standing on the side-lines. An observer. This was his sport. She'd be fine. She'd try, but that's it...no letting it take more than she was willing to give.

She'd learned from her mistake.

She prayed Nishinoya never fell, she'd give _anything_ to make sure that bundle of joy never fell...but that didn't mean that she could get her own naivete back. That she could just erase her own suffering.

People always urge you to get back up, to get back in there...but at what point does it stop being motivational and just become patronizing? Falling down _hurts_ and sometimes, sometimes you just didn't want to risk the pain.

So, yes, she'd join. And, yes, she'd give it her best...but not her all. Not when she was only just recovering from her latest spill. If they were willing to accept a flightless bird, then more power to them.

But that didn't mean she'd try to fly.

That's where she drew the line. And there was nothing Nishinoya could say, or do, to make her change her mind. She would do a lot for this friendship she'd stumbled into...but she _refused_ to risk falling.

Flying meant falling, and falling meant pain.

And she was done getting hurt.

* * *

**A/N: **Not a very long chapter, but at least we're getting somewhere? Finally looping back to where we started. I want to thank you all for your lovely reviews! I also want to let you know that I've gone back and fixed my few errors, and gotten rid of past author's notes/review responses to make for a more expedient read. (I'll probably do this again ~Chp 10). Perhaps the only thing I changed that will matter to this chapter...is that Tanaka is in a different class than the two of them (hence why they leave to find him). It was brought to my attention that this was cannon, so...

Anyway, to save space (as my audience continues to grow) I will continue to respond to reviews, but only anonymous ones shall be posted here, the rest of you should've received a PM from me ;)

Hope this works for everyone, and thanks for reading!

**CUBBIES: **I'm so glad you think my fic makes sense! I greatly appreciate that the characters in Haikyuu aren't these little cookie-cutter "sports" guys, (even lovable Nishinoya). You always really get the feel that they're in high school, and that things like exams actually play a role in their life. Nishinoya himself seems to have a lot of depth, despite how he and Tanaka act he's actually really shy around girls. And he's got this whole 'senpai' image going. (I'm gonna go off on tangent here...sorry) And I LOVE how he chose Karasuno based on the school uniforms! That's SO REAL! Like...that's why I'd chose to go to a High School (*cough* my school's colors were red-and-black _totally the reason I went there _*cough*). Lol, you're right to assume Nishinoya has plans to harass little 'mura-chan (walks home, anyone?) But I don't think he quite understands how much ribbing he's gonna get from his senpai's either.

(My reaction to being called senpai): "H-huh...me? Right! *blushes with nose in air* I am your Senpai! And it's a Senpai's job to treat their Kouhai! *Hands you an ice cream* So here you go." (Or something like that). Honestly, though, I wouldn't worry to much about your past works. I think the first fic I wrote was _horrible_, but I laugh when I read it. Use it as a measure of how far I've come. The thing about writing is that you never stop improving, every review, every chapter, shapes you as a writer. And sometimes it can be nice to look back and see how you've changed. (That's just my opinion, though.)

...this response got pretty long *sweat drop* oh, well! Anyway, hope you liked this chapter! Oh, also, I _have_ started that Naruto spin-off. Not sure if I'll post it here or not (I mean, it's not done yet). But I'll definitely let you know when/where it'll be available ;) Aaaand, I think that's it...thanks again!

**Ja Ne!**


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